


Peacetime

by garrideb



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alien Planet, Angst, Community: wintercompanion, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garrideb/pseuds/garrideb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After <i>Last of the Time Lords</i>, the Doctor needs a friend, so he convinces Jack to take one more trip with him.  They travel to a war-torn planet in the midst of a special festival.  Written: 11/2007</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peacetime

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Doctor Who fic, and was written for the prompt [darkness](http://wintercompanion.livejournal.com/tag/challenge%3A%20darkness) at wintercompanion.livejournal.com.

He lasts a month alone, companionless, before the feeling of disconnection becomes a problem. It’s when he’s strolling through Times Hexagon in New New York that he suddenly can’t understand what anybody is saying. His first thought is of the TARDIS, and that something must be horribly wrong if the translation matrix is off-line.

But when he pauses, he realizes that he can understand the language; that is, the individual words are familiar. A man in a trench coat mutters into a phone, and the Doctor can hear ‘cost’, ‘office’, and ‘deadline’. Two young cats in hoodies speak, and the words ‘park’, ‘old’, and ‘later’ are understandable. In fact, the Doctor is in the middle of a sea of perfectly ordinary words. It’s just that none of them are congealing into anything meaningful.

It’s like standing amid the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, all mixed up, and no bigger picture. It scares the Doctor.

He hurries back through the noisy crowd, his hearts beating quickly. Back in his ship, the TARDIS assures him that she is working properly, and that physically, there is nothing wrong with him either.

“Of course not,” he tells her, then shakes his head at himself. “It never used to get so bad, though.”

It’s not something there are many self-help books written about, being the last of one’s species. And it doesn’t help that human companions as of late have felt increasingly fleeting. How long had he known Martha before she was saying goodbye? Hell, Donna hadn’t even been up for one quick jaunt into time. And Rose...

Didn’t they used to stay by his side longer? Didn’t he used to leave them behind for their own good, when he realized they were prepared to stay forever?

Maybe they’re getting smarter.

The Doctor smiles at that thought.

“You’re getting old,” he tells himself. “Find someone who can sit beside you in a rocking chair, play dominos, and moan about the good old days. That’s what you need.”

Achingly, the Master’s face comes to mind. The Doctor shakes it away the best he can. He’s left thinking of the oldest human he knows.

* * *

“Just one trip, for old time’s sake,” the Doctor pleads to Jack. He and his immortal friend are standing outside the TARDIS, parked in the middle of the plaza. Jack looks uncertain, with his eyes constantly darting towards the building that hides Torchwood Three.

“I’ll have you back before they know you’re gone.” The Doctor says, and Jack snaps his eyes back to the Doctor’s face and grins. He knows he’s been caught. He’s still not convinced, though, and the Doctor moves in for the kill. “I know you want to. You miss it. Why else would you come running the moment you heard me land?”

Jack looks a bit taken aback by the Time Lord’s bluntness, and the grin slips off his face. “Of course I miss it. If you don’t count the year that we erased, it’s been over a century for me since we traveled together.” It comes out more than a little bitter, but the Doctor ignores that. Old men are supposed to be bitter, after all.

“I’ll let you choose where we go,” he says, and he knows he’s won when Jack sighs and lays a hand on the blue paneling of the TARDIS.

The Doctor already feels better once he and Jack are inside with the door firmly locked behind them.

Jack’s request is simple, brazen, and oh-so-Jack in it’s flirtatious delivery: “Take me somewhere you’ve never taken a companion before.”

* * *

They step outside the TARDIS and into a narrow, deserted alley. Jack’s eyes are wide and bright as he looks around, eager to see if he recognizes the place. The Doctor knows it’s unlikely, as they’re very far from the corner of the universe where the humans have set up camp, at least in Jack’s native era. It’s true that the immortal has traveled further than most humans, but even at almost a century and a half years old, Jack is still quite young.

“This isn’t Earth.” Jack points out, sounding almost surprised. He’s gazing up at the sky. “I don't think Earth’s atmosphere has ever been that shade of blue.”

“Look, I know I do Earth a lot, but it’s not the only planet I visit.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t implying that, Doctor. I’m sure you have an eclectic taste in planets: Earth, New Earth, Earth Junior, New Earth Junior...”

“Hey! There’s no _New_ Earth Junior, as I’m sure you know.”

Pausing in his examination of the alleyway, Jack turns to his friend with a frown. “Is there actually an Earth Junior? I was being sarcastic.”

The Doctor shrugs. “Astronomers tend to have parties after they discover inhabitable planets. Alcohol is often served.”

Jack laughs. He isn’t sure if the Doctor is teasing him or if some planets really are named by drunk scientists. “So what’s this planet called?” He asks.

“Gitans. It’s the name of the city we’re in, too, actually.”

“All right. Let’s see what Gitans has to offer.”

“Jack, wait.” Jack, who had started towards the mouth of the alleyway, stops. “I think the TARDIS got us here at the right time, but until I’m sure, you need to stay close. If we’re just a few days off it won’t be safe here, and we’ll need to go.”

His curiosity piqued, Jack looks ready to protest. He keeps his mouth shut though and nods. The Doctor double checks the lock on his police box, then jogs over to his friend and leads them both out of the alley.

It’s much brighter in the street, out of the shade of the tall buildings. Almost immediately Jack can see where some of the Doctor’s concern is coming from: the city has obviously been under attack.

The buildings lining the street are all made of a pale marble-patterned stone, but it’s chipped and cracked, even completely broken and crumbled onto the road in some places. Windows are missing or boarded up. One bright green door across from them has been splintered from its hinges. Someone has leaned it horizontally across the doorway, so that it’s acting as a particularly short gate.

It’s a pity because Jack can easily imagine the street without the damage. The buildings are all at least four or five stories tall, with small windows and shallow balconies scattered liberally. Most of the balconies are empty, but a few potted plants hint that this isn’t always the case.

The road itself is also cracked and filled with debris. Even as the Doctor and Jack watch, though, it’s being cleared away by weary-looking people with sad eyes and hopeful smiles.

They look human enough to Jack, but a quick glance beside him reminds him that looks don’t mean a damn thing.

“What happened here?” Jack finally asks.

The Doctor continues to watch the activity in the street. “War happened. Is happening. It’s been going on for years, and it’s going to keep going for a long time.”

“Oh.” Jack waits for the Doctor to continue, but it seems that’s all the Time Lord has to say. A tall, gray-haired woman catches Jack’s attention and he watches as she struggles to push a chunk of stone next to the wall it must have broken off of. “Why did you bring me here?”

“There’s a place in this city - rather unique to the universe, I've found. I... most always, it’s too dangerous to come here.” The Doctor scrubs a hand through his hair. “But there’s a holiday, once a year. Six days of peace. Starting today, any acts of war are forbidden.” The faraway look in the Doctor’s expression clears and he grins at Jack. “Each night there’s a celebration. Giant party, even by your standards, I’m sure. You’ll love it, Jack.”

“And you’ve never brought anyone else here?”

The Doctor shrugs. “No, I haven’t. And it’s been a while since I’ve been here, myself.”

The gray-haired woman finally gets the stone lined up neatly with the jagged wall. She places one hand on the wall and one on the broken piece and closes her eyes. The white stone shifts and seems to slowly melt together. Transfixed, Jack watches as the gap disappears, leaving an unblemished section of wall. The woman opens her eyes and leans forwards, inspecting her work carefully.

Jack looks sharply at his friend, who offers a toothy smile. “Psychic stone. The people here have just enough psychic ability to manipulate psi particles in the stone. It’s the reason this city has lasted so long, despite years of war.”

Nearby, two men are smoothing out the stone-paved road. Jack is fascinated. “Anyone can mold the stone?”

“Just about. This here - this is basic stuff. Come on Jack, I’ll show you the really impressive work: cathedrals, sculptures, engravings... it should mostly be intact by now, I think.”

The Doctor turns on his heel and starts down the street, weaving around gaping holes and piles of debris. Jack hurries after him.

* * *

The center of the city is as impressive as the Doctor promised. A wide, sluggish river runs through the city, and the pair end up walking along side it, admiring the ornate stone bridges that span the water. The river is peppered with small boats that remind Jack of the gondolas of Venice.

Everywhere there are people. Some are all but bursting with good will and greet the two travelers with hugs and proclamations of peace. Other people are subdued, looking lost amid the revelers. The signs of war are unavoidable; the ruined buildings are being fixed before The Doctor’s eyes, but missing limbs, braces and bandages aren’t melting away as easily the cracks in the street.

The sun is just beginning to set when the Doctor changes their course away from Gitan’s center. Jack follows quietly. He’s been too busy drinking everything in to say much.

The buildings become fewer and smaller, and soon they’re following the river past fields. There are no crops growing, just trenches weaving back and forth. Jack finds himself watching the river rather than look at the fields. It’s a fair exchange - the river, which was a muddy brown in the daylight, is now burning orange with the light of the sunset. The Doctor isn’t watching either - he’s watching Jack.

He feels like apologizing, but he’s afraid if he vocalizes anything wrong, he’ll be forced to admit that they should both just go back. And they should, but that’s not what the Doctor wants. Not now, not that Jack’s here.

And then it’s a moot point, because they’ve reached their destination. The Doctor grabs Jack by the arm and leads him away from the river, up a small trail that meanders towards the crest of a hill. There’s a iron gate near the top, and the Doctor carefully opens it and ushers Jack through.

He doesn’t quite let go of Jack. He loosens his grip on Jack’s arm and lets his hand slide down until it’s barely encircling Jack’s wrist.

They reach the top of the hill. Jack takes a sharp breath. Spread out down the slope of the hill’s other side is a massive graveyard. Even though the sunlight is all but gone, the white marble-like markers seem to glow against the backdrop of dark grass. There are hundreds of them.

Each marker is a few feet high, rectangle, and angled back slightly to afford a better view of their faces from the hilltop. Not that there’s much to see - they’re all blank, without a single name or date to be seen.

“Are all these... nameless causalities?” Jack asks. He knows better than anyone that war is the perfect environment in which to get lost. He’s seen all manner of solutions, from dog tags to subdermal chips, but nothing is foolproof.

The Doctor places his hand against Jack’s shoulder. Gently, he pushes Jack forwards to pass under the small archway and into the graveyard. “Stand in front of a stone,” he instructs, “and think of a prayer for someone.”

Jack throws him a doubtful look. “A prayer?” But he’s already approaching the closest marker.

The Doctor finds himself touched by Jack’s obedience but annoyed by his need for clarification. He’s only ever come here alone, and it feels strange to have someone else here, even the familiar presence of Jack. He doesn’t need Jack pointing out how strange it all sounds.

“I’m not asking you to write a hymn. Just... remember someone you’ve lost. Loved and lost.”

Jack nods and turns back to the gravestone. The Doctor feels oddly breathless. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen Jack stand so still.

The face of the stone begins to change. As if an invisible hand is etching into it, a name appears in sloping, graceful letters. _Estelle_.

Jack takes a startled step back, then stands silently for several minutes, arms folded around himself, looking at the name. Finally he beckons the Doctor. “It’s your turn,” he says. “Come over here.”

The Doctor hesitates. “The graveyard doesn’t work quite right with me. The stone is much more sensitive to Timelord psychic ability than it is to human or Gitan ability and... right.” He sighs when he sees the look Jack is throwing at him and ducks under the archway.

Immediately the deeply etched lines appear, following meandering paths. Jack stares, engrossed at the name forming on the gravestone next to Estelle’s, but movement in his peripheral vision catches his attention. His head snaps up. As far as his eyes can see, every stone in the graveyard is carving out a name.

The Doctor reaches Jack’s side and Jack grabs hold of his hand.

Confronted with the names of a lost past, the Doctor knows it’s easy to stand frozen in memory. He can’t count the hours he’s spent on this very spot on previous trips to this planet. But he’s got his own anchor tonight, fixed point in time that Jack is. The human’s hand is warm in his own, and the Doctor finds that a few short minutes facing the field of gravestones is enough. He gives the hand a squeeze and together they start walking back.

* * *

Like a flip has been thrown, the Doctor is a completely different creature on the trip back to the plaza. Instead of silent and watchful, he feels animated. He can’t stop talking.

“We’ll be back just in time for the start of the concert. Oh, you’ll love it, Jack. They’ve put up a stage right by the river, and Gitan’s favorite singer will perform. It won’t matter tonight which side anyone is on.”

“United under wine and song? That’s a philosophy I can live with,” Jack grins.

The concert is in full swing, in fact, by the time the companions reach the riverside stage. They stand behind the rows and rows of benches, content to watch from a distance. It helps that the singer - a tall woman with broad shoulders, clenched fists, and piles of jet black hair - is operatic in style, and her powerful voice reaches Jack and the Doctor easily.

After an hour bathed in songs of passion, Jack is shifting on his feet. The Doctor smiles and without a word, they set off again.

No matter which street they turn onto, there is music. Some drifts out from open windows, other music comes from the street itself, where a small cluster of old men are playing instruments. Some younger people are dancing as lively bows slide over strings.

Jack spins the Doctor to the music as they pass. There’s laughter, a tug on his sleeve, and a young woman presses a bottle into his hands. A swig each - it’s strong and tastes slightly like apples - and Jack hands the bottle back. They continue on.

It soon becomes apparent that they can’t go a block without being offered a mug, a bottle, a glass; the Doctor isn’t refusing any of them and Jack follows suit.

A fine mist is hanging in the air, although it grows thicker the closer they get to the river. There’s a glowing light coming from the riverbank, and the Doctor leads them towards it. Only when they’re very close can they see what it is - the glow of dozens of candles bobbing along on the current.

The fifth person to offer them a drink is selling floating candles. “Only 50 oscils,” she claims proudly as she pours a brew into a cup and hands it to the Doctor. “Light one in memory of a soul and send it down the river.” The Doctor tips back the cup, enjoying the burn of alcohol through his system. He hands the cup back and with a smile the woman fills it up for Jack. “I know they say the dead are close to us in times of danger, but I believe they are closest to us during these days, when war can’t scare them away. To peace!” She adds, and Jack lifts the cup in a toast before drinking.

“We’ll take one,” Jack says when he gives the cup back. He turns to the Doctor. “For Rose.”

The Doctor nods and digs into his coat pocket for the money. A few minutes later, one more candle joins all the others disappearing into the mist.

The ninth person to offer them a drink turns out to own a small fleet of boats, and is renting them out for the night. “Jack, lets,” the Doctor says, simply, but with such enthusiasm that Jack has no choice but to acquiesce.

The boat is thin but long, and fairly flat. There’s a canopy spanning all but the very tips of the boat, and canvas blinds that can be let down to create an enclosed space. The owner holds the craft still as Jack and the Doctor clamber on. He sends them off with a slurred “Peace, and smooth sailing!”

The river pulls them along. Neither man bothers with the oars. It seems they don’t need to: they stay steadily drifting a safe distance from the bank and other boats.

They drift under a stone bridge, past groups of revelers singing and laughing near the riverside. Jack lowers the blinds to better keep out the mist. The light from the floating candles easily shines through the thin canvas.

“This is a good boat,” The Doctor says as he leans back against the seat, legs stretched out. “I like this boat. Shape reminds me of a banana, you know.”

“You and bananas,” Jack says, and his voice is filled with such fondness that the Doctor has no choice pull his friend into a hug.

The mist becomes a drizzle. It taps on the canopy, sounding like a thousand tiny drumbeats. The candles on the river go out one by one, and the soft glow fades to darkness. The rain has muted the sounds of celebration from the bank - or perhaps they’ve just drifted further away. The Doctor rests his head on Jack’s shoulder.

Although neither of them can see it, they pass under another bridge. This one has a relief of stars and planets worked into the stone of the bridge’s underside. Part of it has chipped off, leaving a jagged blank spot in the artwork.

The jagged spot smooths over as the boat passes under it, and the word ‘stay’ sinks into the stone as if an invisible seal were pressing into wax.

The Doctor doesn’t say it outloud, but Jack seems to hear it all the same. Eyes closed and head tipped back, he replies, “As long as you want me here, Doctor.”


End file.
